Anniversary
by Ergo Ipso Facto
Summary: OLD. Don't judge me based on this fic. YxM, oneshot, spoilers. He would not die, and she would not return. That was the way of things. He’d come to accept it. Or so he thought.


**Timeline: **Indefinite, sometimebefore the events of the game

**Pairing:** Yuartel. Huzzah.

**Rating: **PG for mild language and angst

* * *

There was a knock on the door. He ignored it.

"Lord Yuan?" someone asked tentatively. He didn't react. He recognized the voice as belonging to one of the increasingly small number of new recruits. Even so, they should know better than to bother him now. He silently willed them to leave, still staring at the golden ring he held in his hand. Ironic, he thought, that something so small could symbolize so much. This ring had once stood for everything he held dear – for the hope of change, and for the one person he believed truly could change the world… Just as she had changed him. Ironic that all the happy memories he had attached to this ring had been supplanted by an all-consuming emptiness. _So very ironic._

It had been four thousand-odd years since that fateful day, possibly more. He lost track of time occasionally. But it never seemed to matter how much of it had passed. Though countless other people came and went, he would not die, and she would not return. That was the way of things. He'd come to accept it.

Or so he'd thought. But now, as he sat unable to tear his eyes from the last remnant of a life that had ended entire millennia ago, he realized he'd been deluding himself. Moreover, he knew this had to stop. He'd seen what had happened to Mithos through the younger half-elf's stubborn refusal to be honest with himself. Mithos, _or should I say Yggdrasill, _he thought with a slight sneer, had been unable to accept death. And this was the result. This twisted ritual of the Chosen, so many lives thrown away for the Cruxis leader's own selfish ends. Martel would never have approved.

This selfsame thought had occurred to him countless times over the centuries, and he had never gotten anywhere with it. No, this was not the way things should be, but he'd known that from the start. It was all trodden ground, as if his mind were stuck in a rut.

_Maybe it is._ He followed that line of thought inexorably to its conclusion – the same one he had always reached, perhaps the _only_ conclusion. If Martel had not died, then none of this would have become necessary. But she had. "There's no escaping it," Kratos had said of her death, and he had been right. _And there's certainly no escaping it now. Even after four thousand years…_

"Lord Yuan, are you in there?" the inquiry came again, intruding on his thoughts and dragging him back to reality. This had to be dealt with.

He quickly hid the ring, disengaging the lock. The door slid open, revealing a nervous-looking young soldier. "What do you want?" Yuan demanded, his voice sounding caustic even to himself.

Seeing the look on his leader's face, the rookie stammered, "Ah, nothing, my lord, I'll ask someone else." He fled. Yuan watched impassively as the door slid closed again. He'd thought the new recruits were made of sterner stuff. They would have to be, to oppose Cruxis.

_No matter._ He pressed a button on the communicator on his desk. "Botta."

The answer came almost immediately. "Lord Yuan?"

"See to it that I am not disturbed."

"Of course," was the crisp reply. _A good man, that Botta._ He had been in this practically from the start and had proven his worth many times over. The Renegades needed more like Botta.

_What we _need_ is to not be in this situation in the first place, dammit! If Martel hadn't died…_ There was that same thought again. Just as there was no escaping her death, it seems there was no escaping his wish for her to be alive again. He knew he would never be able to bring himself not to care. But did he want to? He was one of only three people now alive who had known her as she once was. Not to want her back would be to dishonor her memory as much as to spit on her grave. _If she had one._

He pulled out the ring again, turning it over and over in his hand. He knew it by touch by now, knew exactly where to find every detail of its intricate carving. Here, on the inner rim, it read "Y + M." And there was the elven word "forever…"

_She's dead. I know. She has been for longer than anyone who wasn't there can remember. _And in a way, that was an eternity. That was their forever.

His fist connected with the wall before he even realized he'd struck out. Martel was dead, but he thought he could live with that. It was the fact that she could still be brought back, that Mithos could still resurrect her, that made things so much worse. That was why he had followed Cruxis's ideals. But even he had had to admit that the price was far too high, that Mithos's raving was that of a madman. It was possible, but he could never allow himself to believe it was acceptable. _Why couldn't you let her die? _He demanded of the specter of Mithos in his mind. _Why won't you let her stay dead?_

He was shaking violently, fighting tears as he stared at the ring, unable to look away. This was forever. They truly would never be apart – her presence would always linger in his mind, never leaving, never letting him rest. _Why does it have to be this way? _But the imaginary Yggdrasill made no response, probably because he already knew the answers. He knew why, and he knew what he had to do. One way or another, the Great Seed must be germinated. It was the only way. He knew that, too. But that did nothing to lessen the pain of the knowledge that in doing so, he would lose Martel for a second time. There was no escaping it.

* * *

Everyone who had come into contact with Yuan that day had noted that he was in a markedly odd mood. They put him down as distracted, angry, even more aloof than usual… Then again, Botta supposed, he _was_ entitled. After all, not every day was the anniversary of the day Yuan and Martel would have been married. If Martel hadn't died. 


End file.
